


Leap of Faith

by Selly87



Series: Leap of Faith [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Murder, Auror Harry Potter, Denial, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Head Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Heavy Angst, Hero Complex, I Don't Kill Drarry, M/M, Matter of Life and Death, Metropolitan Police, Muggle London, Nobody Dies, Panic Attacks, Self-Medication, Sit Down For This, Specialist Firearms Command, St Mungo's Hospital, Stubborn Draco Malfoy, Stubborn Harry Potter, Suicide Attempt, Tension, There Is Still Angst, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Tension, aftermath of a suicide, did I mention angst yet?, suicide prevention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-05 01:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selly87/pseuds/Selly87
Summary: When the Specialist Firearms Command of London's Metropolitan Police Service call the Head Auror of the British Auror Department to assist on a case, little does Harry Potter know that he is expected to achieve the impossible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vixens_thoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixens_thoughts/gifts).



> I think I've made it very clear in the tags that this story is _quite angsty_ and deals with the very serious topic of attempted suicide and suicide prevention (though there is an unexpected twist), but I think I've also made it very clear that nobody dies. This may be a bit of a spoiler but I thought it necessary to make that clear (possibly because I'm a hopeless sap).
> 
> I don't quite know how the idea for this popped into my head, but it just wouldn't leave me alone. Turns out this plot bunny was worth writing as I'm already writing the sequel to this in my mind, so if you want the questions (you will undoubtedly have when you finish reading) answered, look out for the second part.
> 
> Last but not least, to my darling _**Faya**_ , this one is for you. Thank you for listening to my mindless ramblings, thank you for reading and thank you for your support, it meant the world to me.

* * *

Harry waited for the police car to pull to a full stop at the front entrance to 110 Bishopsgate and unfastening his seatbelt, he politely thanked the uniformed trainee officer who had bravely suffered through London’s insane traffic for him, pushed the door to the side door open and climbed out. He would have preferred to apparate straight over but the trainee officer, tasked with picking him up, had no clue that he was, in fact, a wizard and Harry wasn’t about to scar the young man for life. He also had no intention of breaking the Statute of Secrecy any time soon. He truly hated the MET calling him in to assist on criminal cases involving a connection between Muggles and Wizards, but he couldn’t very well ignore his duties as official liaison. It had come with his promotion to the Head of the Auror Department seven years ago. _Well, that wasn’t strictly true now, was it?_ his mind helpfully reminded him and he clicked his tongue at his own backstabbing thoughts. _Muggle and Wizard Auror Liaison_ — _or_ MAWAL _as Ron mockingly liked to refer to it_ — was something Harry himself had cooked up and put into place, with Kingsley Shacklebolt’s full support, of course.

With a sigh and the knowledge that he himself was to blame for his added workload on this fine Friday afternoon, Harry headed straight for the entrance to Heron Tower. Official police tape sealed the doors to the tower off tightly, branding it as an active crime scene, investigation in progress. As he approached yet another junior officer in uniform, Harry casually reached for his Department of Magical Law Enforcement badge and flashed it at the young police officer. To any wizard or witch, who looked at his badge, it showed his name, the fact that he was Head Auror and the official Department of Magical Law Enforcement crest. Any Muggle who looked at the badge merely saw the official Metropolitan Police logo and his Specialist Firearms Command badge number. Underneath that, it showed his name and his title read _Senior Specialist Firearms Commanding Officer_ , a title Harry considered laughable since he had never fired a weapon in his life and the only firearm he possessed was a magic wand. Nevertheless, his rank, fake as it was, made the young police officer scramble and he immediately lifted the official police tape, ushering Harry through.

Harry flashed him a million-pound smile, headed inside the concierge-style entrance and reception area, swarming with police officers. He stopped one of the officers, asked for the commanding officer and was promptly and without any questions led straight to the lifts and accompanied up to the sky bar on the fortieth floor, a delightful sushi bar he had heard of but had not yet had the pleasure to visit. The scenic lift offered a gorgeous view over the city, but Harry was too preoccupied with whatever awaited him atop the building to really take in the scenery. He quietly followed a female police officer to the SCO command centre near the external terraces and noted that the entire place was completely devoid of patrons or bar staff. An eerie silence hung over the place and even though countless uniformed officers were scrambling about the place, everyone seemingly tried to be as quiet as possible. As Harry approached Brian Crowley, the actual senior commanding officer in charge of whatever had or was presently transpiring out on the external terraces, he casually unfastened the clasp atop his scarlet Auror robes, pulled the garment off his shoulders and casually draped it over his arm.

“Brian, you ordered my immediate appearance,” he mocked the senior commanding officer, who turned to face him with a seriously grim expression on his face. “What’s the matter?”

“We caught a jumper,” Brian, who was in his mid-forties and didn’t know what a joke was when it hit him in the face, answered him. “One of your people,” he added and Harry frowned at him for the entirely unnecessary segmentation between Muggles and Wizards but said nothing.

“Have you tried talking him down?” Harry asked.

“Tried yes, succeeded no.”

 _Obviously_ , Harry channelled his inner Severus Snape, but, once again, said nothing in response. If Brian’s team had succeeded in talking the jumper off the ledge, there would not have any need for him to show his face at Heron Tower. No, they would have called him straight to the morgue or one of London’s countless Muggle hospitals instead.

“You take a crack at him, Harry,” Brian said quite firmly, leaving Harry with no doubt over the fact that a law enforcement officer with whom he shared the same rank had just given him a direct order. He found it rather laughable but Brian enjoyed pulling the rank he didn’t have and Harry wasn’t childish enough to indulge the man. He most definitely didn’t look forward to spending his Friday afternoon trying to talk a suicidal wizard or witch off a ledge and mentally cancelled his plans to meet Ron at the Leaky Cauldron for a few celebratory end-of-the-week pints and a good gossip about the joke shop and the rotten inefficiency of the Ministry of Magic. He had done a good job at sweeping through the Ministry and turning it upside down but there was still plenty he intended to do and with Hermione only a few years away from taking over from Shacklebolt, his chance was looming around the corner.

“Can you tell me anything?” Harry asked, loath to go into the situation armed only with the knowledge that he was dealing with somebody from the magical community who was deranged enough to attempt to throw him- or herself off the top of a Muggle building. Wizards and witches rarely chose to end their lives by voluntarily jumping off the top of a tall building. There were far more effective, faster, and quicker ways to achieve instantaneous death. Most wizards or witches opted for a potion to help them do the deed and even though he knew it was entirely wrong to feel this way, Harry was morbidly curious to find out who was trying to finish themselves off in such a spectacular way.

“Bloke hasn’t spoken a word since we arrived,” Brian grudgingly supplied him with some information. “We reckon he’s a doctor though, wears a funny white robe that one, quite good-looking too if you ask me. Tall, blond hair, very handsome in a pointy sort of way. No idea what would make him want to jump, I’m sure he can have anyone he desires several times over.”

Harry pursed his lips and decided not to comment on Brian’s entirely inappropriate assessment of the jumper. He had only undergone basic psychological training, it had been voluntary too, but the course had taught him enough to know that one’s looks did not necessarily factor into why somebody might want to end their life. The fact that Brian seemed, or chose to be, so completely and utterly unaware of those basic guidelines, truly astounded Harry. Deciding that time was of the essence and that standing here talking to Brian just meant that he was wasting precious time he could use to attempt to save a life, Harry gave Brian a curt nod, resolutely ending their conversation. He turned on his heel, headed for the door that led out to the external terraces and ordered anyone milling about the entrance to back off several feet. They grudgingly obliged and heading outside, Harry looked around. He spotted the jumper almost instantly and approached carefully. The man wasn’t facing him and stood so precariously close to the ledge that Harry held his breath as he carefully took several steps closer. He wasn’t entirely sure of what to say and calmly surveyed the scene before him for several minutes. Not storming into the situation headfirst wasn’t what he was renown for but even he knew that his insane Gryffindor bravery was entirely ill-placed in this situation.

He casually felt for his wand and wondered whether he should attempt a Full-Body-Bind Curse but instantly dismissed it as too dangerous. He didn’t want to risk being responsible for helping to send the jumper over the edge. _Bonds?_ he thought, wondering whether he might be able to somehow conjure some bonds and summon the jumper towards him. While he had a lot of confidence in his magical skills, he simply didn’t dare to toy with another person’s life like that. A levitation charm seemed like yet another good idea and Harry went to draw his wand to cast the spell when it occurred to him that the place was crawling with Muggle police officers. His team of Obliviators would hardly appreciate having to work overtime on his behalf and so Harry left his wand holstered and slowly approached the ledge instead.

The closer he came, the more calculated his steps became and he wisely stopped about ten feet away from the jumper.

“Mate, could I have a word with you?” he called out to the jumper to get the man’s attention but frowned when the jumper ignored him completely. He had learnt enough to know that it wasn’t entirely unusual and boldly taking yet another step closer to the ledge, Harry kept his fingers loosely curled around his wand but left it holstered. “I just want to talk, if that’s okay with you. If you don’t want me to come any closer, please tell me,” Harry tried again but continued silence was his only reward. Harry swallowed a sigh, took another cautionary step closer and cranked his neck to try and see the jumper’s face. He couldn’t, but a mad thought struck him. He only knew _one_ _person_ who had such strikingly obvious platinum blond hair and momentarily throwing caution to the wind, he moved another two steps forward, reached the bannister and leaned out and over it. His breath caught in his throat and for a few seconds, he felt entirely out of his depth. His jumper was none other than Draco Malfoy, his Hogwarts nemesis, pompous git turned healer extraordinaire. _Fuck!_ his mind offered entirely unhelpful commentary and everything Harry had learnt in his suicide prevention training went right out of the proverbial window.

“Malfoy, I know you know it’s me!” he snapped and instantly wanted to snap himself when Malfoy’s feet moved that much closer towards the edge. _Get a grip, Potter!_ Harry reprimanded himself. Picking a fight with Malfoy wasn’t going to stop him from jumping if anything it would probably just push him over the edge even faster. Harry worried his bottom lip, practically mauled it with his teeth, and desperately tried to think of something smart to say. He drew a blank. Why was it that even sixteen years after the war, Malfoy still had the amazing talent to reduce him to a stammering fool or rather take away his ability to speak altogether?

“Malfoy, you can’t possibly want to jump off that ledge,” Harry tried again and the second the words had left his mouth, he knew he had once again said the wrong thing, for it sounded more like a challenge than a sincere offer of help. He mentally slapped himself, forced himself to take a deep breath and instead of coming out with yet another inappropriate comment, he decided to take a long hard look at Malfoy. It struck him as extremely odd that Malfoy stood on that ledge, seemingly as cool as a cucumber, utterly composed and with his back ramrod straight and his shoulders tense. He was looking straight ahead, rather than down, and the only obvious sign of his inner battle was the fact that Malfoy had his fists tightly clenched at his sides. While Harry was painfully aware of the fact that there was no universal posture for a suicidal person, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that Malfoy absolutely did not look like somebody who _wanted_ to end his life by jumping off the top of one of London’s tallest buildings. Try as he might, Harry did not peg Draco Malfoy as the kind of person to ever choose such a spectacular, crowd-attracting way to end his life.

Harry desperately racked his brain for something smart to say, something that would get him Malfoy’s attention for long enough to lock eyes and engage him in a meaningful conversation. _Don’t offer advice, don’t make promises, don’t tell them it’ll get better_ , Harry ran through the lists of don’t’s, the psychologist who had trained him, had ingrained in him, and fervently tried to remember what he _should_ be doing. His eyes flickered toward Malfoy and his mind went completely and utterly blank. He cursed inwardly. He vaguely recalled some nonsense about sympathising and decided that he simply had no idea how to sympathise with what Draco Malfoy clearly was about to do. _Be compassionate_ , his mind suggested. _I can show concern_ , Harry thought. _Persuade_ , his mind helpfully added. Yes, he most definitely could try his best to persuade Malfoy not to jump off that blasted ledge.

“Draco,” Harry tried again, opting for Malfoy’s given name, and settling on a much gentler tone of voice. “Draco, could you give me a couple of minutes? I’m not here to try and stop you, I just want to understand why you are here. Would you, could you tell me?” Harry tried his hardest to keep his voice soft and swallowed a long sigh when Malfoy still didn’t react. _Hell_ , Harry thought, _at least have the decency to give me the time of day to fucking understand why you want to die_. “Draco, I don’t know what made you climb up there, but I can tell that you’re desperate. Maybe we could talk about this? Just let me know what’s going on in your mind, I might be able to help…or maybe I can take you to see somebody who can,” Harry continued to keep his voice soft and gentle and tried not to punch the air when Malfoy moved his feet half an inch or so backwards and turned his head into the direction of Harry’s voice. He wasn’t looking at him but had turned his head enough for Harry to see his face and what he saw there stunned him into speechlessness.

Malfoy’s face was entirely devoid of emotion, his cheeks relaxed and pale, his lips not pursed and not a single tear anywhere in sight. _Doesn’t have to mean anything_ , Harry’s mind offered, clearly eager to please him and Harry frowned. Malfoy had always been good at keeping his emotions locked away behind a veil of complete and utter indifference but Harry seriously doubted that, given present circumstances, Malfoy would be this cool and composed. While Malfoy had been an absolute terror to him during their time at Hogwarts, Harry knew that Malfoy was well able of showing intense and very real emotions. He therefore highly doubted that Malfoy was a psychopath and even though Harry lacked an in-depth understanding of the psychology of psychopathy, he highly doubted that someone who was a pathological liar, who lacked remorse, guilt and empathy would choose to take his own life. Harry had known a psychopath, had killed one even, and Draco Malfoy did not fit that profile, not even in the slightest.

They hadn’t kept in touch after the war but Harry knew that Malfoy had gone abroad to study the fine art of healing at a prestigious wizarding hospital in France followed by a fellowship in the United States of America — _his teenage obsession with all things Draco Malfoy had proven difficult to shake off entirely, even after the war_. Seven years later, Malfoy had returned to London to work at St Mungo’s and last Harry had heard, Malfoy had accepted a promotion to the Head of the _Department for the Reversal of Curse Damage and Potion Misuse_ , which, given the fact that Malfoy was only thirty-four years old was an unheard-of achievement alone. Much like he himself was the youngest Head of the Auror Department, Malfoy was the youngest Head of Department to _ever_ walk the corridors of St Mungo’s and while Harry had heard of cases were doctors committed suicide because they couldn’t deal with the pressure of the job or the workload, Malfoy did not strike him as the type of healer to resort to such finalities.

“Draco, I’m sorry to be this blunt, but are you fucking high?” Harry found himself asking and wanted to instantly slap himself yet again. Weirdly enough, Malfoy’s lips twitched as though he was trying to say something and Harry, albeit angry at himself for not keeping his composure given the seriousness of the situation he was dealing with, couldn’t help but take a long hard look at Malfoy’s face. He simply did not want to believe that a person could be this nonchalant about attempting to put an end to their life and his persistent doubt over the inconsistency of Malfoy’s behaviour, proofed to be right when he took the time to look at Malfoy’s eyes, really look at them. Those, unlike the rest of his face, were not devoid of emotion. No, Malfoy’s eyes were more expressive than Harry had ever seen them be, filled to the brim with what he could only describe as complete and utter terror, intense fear of what was happening.

Harry thought it made perfect sense for Malfoy to be afraid, choosing to commit suicide wasn’t a decision you made entirely on a whim, but something about the look in Malfoy’s eyes simply did not add up. Harry frowned, worried his bottom lip, and stared, quite unashamedly so. What the hell was going on here? Something was most definitely off about the situation and Harry inwardly tightened his grip on his wand but wisely kept it out of Malfoy’s sight. He stared at Malfoy for the longest time, trying to solve the puzzle before his eyes and was about to growl in frustration when lightning struck and he had the perfect aha-moment.

There was only one plausible explanation for the expression in Malfoy’s eyes and Harry’s entire body tensed at the mere idea of it. Letting go of his wand, he surreptitiously moved his hand with his palm facing towards Malfoy and mumbled an almost inaudible incantation to a relatively new spell, a spell that would provide him with the proof he was looking for. Seconds later a faint blue shine flickered to light around Malfoy and Harry briefly closed his eyes and almost choked on a sigh. _True then_ , the thought, inexplicably pleased that he had allowed his instincts to guide him. There was Dark Magic at work, very dark magic. Draco Malfoy was most definitely under a spell, an unforgivable spell to boot, and Harry was now entirely certain that Malfoy was not standing up on that ledge out of his own volition. No, someone had ordered him up there. Someone had ordered him to climb up on that ledge and take his own life. It seemed as if Malfoy was trying, but not quite succeeding, to throw the curse off.

Harry shuddered, suddenly feeling rather cold, despite late spring’s mild temperatures and the warm sunshine. _Fuck!_ he thought and ran his fingers through his messy black hair. How on earth was he supposed to talk an Imperiused Draco Malfoy of a ledge situated more than five hundred feet above the ground? His suicide prevention training had taught him absolutely nothing about how to deal with someone who wasn’t voluntarily trying to take their own life but rather under a spell that compelled them to do so. Harry had no idea how it was possible that Malfoy was still standing up on that ledge, that he hadn’t jumped yet. If time had been of the essence before, Harry was now acutely aware that most of what he had said so far had zero impact on the situation. Most of what he was about to say would probably have zero impact and his heartbeat increased tenfold. He wasn’t standing in front of a suicidal maniac, no, he was standing in front of a ticking time bomb.

Gradually backing away from the ledge, but never taking his eyes off Malfoy, Harry leant against the glass doors that led back inside the sushi bar. He waved a random police officer over and told him to get Brian, preferably yesterday. Clearly sensing his urgency, the young officer jogged off into the direction of the command centre and two minutes later Brian appeared next to him. Not bothering with a detailed update or pleasantries, Harry told him plainly that the British Auror Department was as of immediately responsible for the case and that Brian was to withdraw his team of specialist firearms officers. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could tell that Brian was frowning, possibly fuming internally and most likely readying himself to make a comeback. Harry utilised his Seeker reflexes, those that allowed him to make split-second decisions, and pulled rank, pulled in a way he had never done before.

“Do not make me call the British Prime Minister,” he snarled, still not taking his eyes off Malfoy, and slipping his hand into the pocket of his black Auror-issued, fire-resistant trousers, he clasped his fingers firmly around a small gold coin and mumbled yet another incantation. This one was to alarm his team of senior Aurors, of which one was a highly-trained Hit Wizard, another an Unspeakable and extremely proficient Curse Breaker and a third a highly-qualified Obliviator. They would arrive in a matter of minutes and Harry needed the sushi bar to be devoid of all Muggle police staff before his team of professionals descended upon the building.

“Fine, have it your way, Potter,” Brian replied with as much venom as he could clearly muster, while at the same time remaining respectfully professional. Harry couldn’t help but think that had Brian been born a wizard, Slytherin would have welcomed him with open arms. He was the sort of slimy git that would enjoy an extended stay in the Hogwarts dungeons. Brian was, Harry gave him that much, excellent at his job, but they had both disliked each other from the moment Kingsley Shacklebolt and the British Prime Minister had introduced them to each other. Harry suspected their intense dislike for each other stemmed from the fact that they both excelled at their jobs and did not enjoy taking orders from anyone.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Harry kept up the pretence between them and not waiting for Brian to make a move he returned to the ledge, stood a mere three feet away from Malfoy and leant against the iron bannister. He glanced up at Malfoy and momentarily tempted to resolve to brute force, he toyed with the idea to reach out and drag Malfoy off that ledge. Anything to put an end to this ridiculous gamble with Malfoy’s life. Instead, he took a deep breath, attempted to control his wildly thumping heart, and gripped the bannister tightly with both hands. _All right then, here goes nothing_ , he thought to himself, took another deep breath and vowed to take up smoking after this was all over. He considered it a nasty habit, but somehow, he didn’t think that an afternoon spent astride his trusted, personalised _Firebolt Supreme_ would help him digest what he was about to do. _You are insane, completely insane_ , his inner Hermione Granger told him, but he shrugged and loosened his hold on the bannister and stood up straight. One last deep breath. He tossed his scarlet Auror-robes onto the ground and resolutely climbed on top of the ledge, balancing his life precariously between the safety of the terrace and the nauseating straight descent to the unforgiving asphalt below. _Merlin, you really do have a fucking hero complex_ , he thought, moved into a steadying duelling stance, and fixed his gaze on Malfoy. It wasn’t that he had a problem with heights but with no broom at his side and no safety net below, even he felt out of depth.

“Malfoy, fucking work with me on this or I swear I will find a way to bring you back to life and string you up by your balls,” Harry said, his words oozing the confidence he didn’t know he had. “You’re going to fight this, you’re going to work with me and you’re going to bloody well fight off this bloody curse,” Harry paused, watched as Malfoy jerked his head and turned his face towards him. Malfoy still had his fists clenched into tight balls and Harry thought that he could use that to his advantage. He wasn’t sure how, not yet anyway, but he was sure that his reckless mind would supply him something helpful eventually.

“ _Fight it_ , Malfoy. Fucking fight it with all you got, you do not want to jump off that ledge, you do not, do you hear me? Do you fucking hear me, Malfoy? You do not what to jump off that ledge. _Do. Not. Jump._ Repeat that, in your head, like a mantra,” Harry pushed, trying to get a tiny foothold inside Malfoy’s Imperiused mind, trying against all odds to be Malfoy’s voice of reason, to be that little backstabbing voice inside of Malfoy’s head that kept you from doing stupid things — or occasionally pushed you past what you thought you were capable of and made you do insane things. He had managed to throw off the Imperius Curse in his fourth year at Hogwarts and he was determined to get Malfoy to do the same. Granted the only reason he had managed to throw off the curse had been because Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as Alastor Moody, had only Imperiused _his_ mind and not the tiny part of Voldemort’s soul, residing inside of him, but Harry decided that what he was trying to achieve wasn’t all that different from his inner battle back then. Malfoy didn’t have a fragment of the soul of one of the darkest wizards in history inside of him, but Harry was hellbent to take on that role.

“Work with me, Draco Malfoy, or I swear I will fucking find a time turner and let you burn in that Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, you know I will,” Harry spoke with conviction, his voice loud and steady, firm, and unrelenting, much like he was trying to teach a dog to obey its master. “I will not jump, I will not jump, I will not jump,” he repeated continuously and keeping his eyes focused on Malfoy, he noted that something flickered in Malfoy’s eyes. It was just a brief flicker and it lasted for only a split of a second but it appeared like he was indeed beginning to get through to Malfoy. “I will not jump, I will not jump, I will not jump,” Harry continued his mantra, determined to drown Malfoy’s Imperiused thoughts with his mindless babble. One way or another he was going to get Malfoy off that ledge.

Out of the corner of one eye, he vaguely noted that his team of Specialist Aurors apparated onto the external terrace. One after the other they appeared and Harry instantly thrust his hand out in a stopping motion, letting them know that they were not to come any closer. “I will not jump, I will not jump, I will not jump,” he continued to berate Malfoy and there was that flicker again, this time it lasted almost a second but Harry did not let that distract him. He continued to push, to literally talk Malfoy down, “I will not jump, I will not jump, I will not jump.”

His Specialist Aurors didn’t need any more than a silent gesture to know that they were to remain on standby, were to remain vigilant. They stood, backs ramrod straight, feet slightly spread apart, and with their wands at the ready, waiting, observing. After Ron had left the Auror Department, Harry had hand-picked his team of Specialist Aurors and they were the best of the best. He was lucky to have them but he didn’t dwell on it, nor did he let that fact distract him. Instead, he cautiously edged forwards and resumed his mantra, “I will not jump, I will not jump, I will not jump.”

Malfoy’s eyes flickered again and his fists loosened a tiny little bit, then clenched even tighter. He was now looking straight at Harry but much to Harry’s dismay his entire body was shaking with the effort it was taking him to let Harry’s words influence him. _If it keeps him from taking that one step forward, then that’s all that matters_ , Harry thought. “I will not jump, I will not jump, I will not jump,” he berated Malfoy.

“Po—Potter,” Malfoy stammered and a visible tremor shook his body. He swayed precariously and for a second Harry held his breath.

“Well thank fuck, you are in there, Malfoy. Yes, it’s me, Potter, your worst nightmare if you don’t do as I say. You will not jump, is that clear?” Harry snapped harshly. His mouth was dry and his throat felt like sandpaper but he wasn’t about to stop, wasn’t about to lose his footing inside Malfoy’s brain, “I will not jump, I will not jump, I will not jump,” he repeated, edged a little closer to Malfoy and watched as Malfoy’s eyes flickered and his face contorted. Malfoy’s knuckles were white from keeping his fists clenched tightly for so long and Harry wondered if Malfoy had any feeling left in his fingers. Another tremor surged through Malfoy and he swayed, his stance more unstable than moments before. His legs were shaking and in a desperate bid to steady himself, Malfoy thrust his hand out.

“Po—Potter,” Malfoy stammered yet again, sounding anguished, and Harry acted purely on instinct. He lunged forward, grabbed the only part of Malfoy that he could, which ended up being the sleeve of his white healer coat, and held on tight. Malfoy’s left foot lost its hold on the ledge, he slipped forward and a death-defying shriek wrenched itself from his lips.

“Fuck, Malfoy, no!” Harry yelled and suddenly it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. He could feel himself slip and he knew he should let go, knew he was about to go over the edge along with Malfoy, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tightened his hold on Malfoy’s coat sleeve and fumbled for his wand in a futile attempt to yank it from its holster so that he could cast a Stasis Charm on Malfoy, slow time, slow them from dropping to their deaths. He cursed under his breath when his wand stubbornly remained sheathed in its holster and his right foot slipped over the edge. He leant backwards in a do-or-die endeavour to defy gravity but Malfoy’s weight was dragging him forward and his second foot slipped over the edge as well.

That was that it was freefall from there. Freefall five-hundred feet to the hard, unforgiving ground. Freefall with certain death looming. Harry reached out to grasp Malfoy’s wrist, held on with everything that he got. A white light flashed before his eyes, momentarily blinding him and he saw his parents’ faces appear before him. _Fuck no, it wasn’t time to meet them yet, it couldn’t be_ , his mind baulked at the mere idea that he was about to die and he did the only thing he could think of. He closed his eyes, forced the image of his parents out of his mind and firmly envisioned the first place that came to mind. He tightened his hold on Malfoy, concentrated with all his might, and felt the familiar tuck of apparition pluck him and Malfoy right out of thin air.

A moment later he and Malfoy tumbled into existence in Harry’s living room in Grimmauld Place and with his feet too weak to carry his weight, Harry fell to his knees, dropped forward, and braced himself on his shaking arms. They trembled relentlessly and barely managed to support his weight. Harry panted hard. His heart thumped in his chest and he could practically hear his blood surging through his body. His ears rang and all that he could think of was, _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ , followed by a quieter, _I’m alive, I’m not dead_.

Harry forced himself to calm down and sitting back on his haunches after his near-death experience — _at this stage, he had lost count of how many of those he had had over the years_ — he drew his wand and even though his hand was shaking badly, he managed to focus and conjure a Patronus. His father’s Animagus form, a strikingly beautiful stag, shot from the tip of his wand and Harry felt a marginally calmer. His eyes fell on Malfoy who was lying motionless on his back and scrambling to his side, Harry shook him mercilessly, then slapped him hard, hard enough to leave an angry red mark on his cheek. Malfoy’s eyes flew open and his entire body shook. “Fuck you, Malfoy, this is the last time I will ever save your scrawny arse,” he snapped, seething with red-hot fury, and leaning over Malfoy he stared into his eyes, trying to determine whether he was still under the Imperius Curse or whether Malfoy had broken through it.

Much to his relief, a pair of terrified grey-blue eyes was staring up at him and Harry relaxed a little, then sat back on his haunches again. He looked at Malfoy for the longest time, suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to press his lips against Malfoy’s and did just that. He lunged forward, kissed Malfoy hard and unforgivingly, then pulled back and stared at him. “Thank fuck you’re alive,” he whispered, closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, then instructed his Patronus to deliver a message to Kingsley Shacklebolt before _The Prophet_ published a special afternoon edition to inform all of Wizarding Britain that he and Malfoy had died in a suicide pact or something equally farcical.


	2. Stubborn Confidentiality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I will not jump,” Potter’s voice echoed in his head and Draco clutched his stomach, breathed through a sudden, but expected, wave of nausea and calmly swallowed past the overpowering urge to retch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Note:** I don't think this story will make much sense if you haven't read [Leap of Faith](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16800958), although you should be able to understand it.
> 
> Anyways, onward...
> 
> So, after Harry's heroic (and _MAD_ ) attempt to save Draco's life, I felt it necessary to shed a bit more light onto what happened, though I have decided to keep my cards close to my chest. This, _my friends_ , means the guessing game is far from over and I am very much looking forward to you telling me what you think happened... (I'm not looking for ideas, I know exactly what happened... _*sly Slytherin smirk*_ )
> 
> Seriously folks, this story was meant to be a one off, to get some stupid idea out of my head, alas, the plot bunnies keep coming for this and I'm in a mild panic...that my mind will attempt to turn this into a long story, which I am vehemently refusing to let happen. Realistically, I should be able to wrap this up in a trilogy.

Draco felt a bout of intense weariness wash over him much like a series of tidal waves crashing onto the British shores of Atlantic Ocean. He dropped his self-inking quill onto the open medical file on his desk, leant back in his black leather chair and closed his eyes. His lingering tension headache was driving him mad and the searing pain behind his eyeballs only intensified as that by now familiar prelude to his rapidly approaching panic attack threatened to overwhelm his senses. He took several deep breaths and heaving himself out of his chair, he rounded his large mahogany wood, strode across the room, made it to the closed door to his office and gripped the doorframe so firmly that his knuckles turned white and his fingernails painfully dug into the wood. He gave into the all-consuming dizzy spell, breathed through his nose, and kept his mouth firmly shut, lest he might vomit all over his antique oriental rug. He didn’t particularly like it, rather hated it in fact, but his mother had gifted it to him to congratulate him on becoming the youngest Head of Department in the history of St Mungo’s and he was too filial a son not to accept it and display it in his office.

“I will not jump,” Potter’s voice echoed in his head and Draco clutched his stomach, breathed through a sudden, but expected, wave of nausea and calmly swallowed past the overpowering urge to retch. He took several deep breaths and it took a few minutes but he finally managed to combat both the dizziness and nausea. They lingered persistently but were manageable. For now, at least. He wrenched the door to his office open, called out to his trusty secretary and told her to cancel his attendance at this afternoon’s Department Head meeting. She frowned but Ally had worked with him for long enough not to question his orders and he liked it this way. He sensed that she was about to make a worried inquiry about his wellbeing, forced a terrifying grin onto his face and promptly slammed the door to his office shut. He turned, leant heavily against the door, and rather ungracefully slid down to the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest as he did so. “I will not jump,” Potter reminded him and Draco felt the gaping unease in his chest intensify tenfold. He bit his tongue until the bitter and metallic taste of blood made him grimace and wrenched his wand from its holster on the inside of his white healer’s coat.

He barely managed to mumble the incantation required to cast a powerful privacy charm, dropped his wand onto the floor and gave in to the urge to scream. His chest constricted painfully and he gasped for air. Salty tears burned his eyes but he refused to yield to the desire to weep, knowing if he allowed that very aftereffect of his recent near-death experience to get the better of him, he might never stop crying. He forced himself to breathe through his anxiety attack — _or whatever mental breakdown he was experiencing that forced him to his knees daily_ — and when the worst of it had passed, he reached for his wand, clutched it with his shaking hand and summoned a phial of Calming Draught from his medicine cabinet.

It took Draco three attempts to uncork the phial, but the moment the cork came loose, he raised the potion phial to his lips and tipped his head back to down the tasteless drug. _If you keep that up, you’ll end up treating yourself for Potions Misuse_ , the relational part of his brain tried to tell him. _Shut the fuck up, I’m a healer, I know what I’m doing_ , he snapped in his head, rested his head back against his office door and sighed. Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing. All the medical literature in the St Mungo’s library, as well as his own personal collection of notable publications on the fine art of healing, reiterated that an imperiused person should not be able to remember anything of what they had done while under the influence of the curse. Yet, in clear defiance of all logic — _and all medical research in existence_ — he clearly remembered standing up on that ledge at the top of Heron Tower, ready to jump to his death. He also, quite vividly, remembered jumping, or rather slipping, to his death only for Harry sodding Potter to save his life yet again. _How many fucking life debts am I going to have to repay before we can finally live separate lives?_ he asked himself and blinking several times he focused on the framed healing degree — _his pride and joy_ — behind his desk. It didn’t appear blurry anymore and his tension headache had ebbed away. It was now just a dull ache at the back of his neck, a faint but unsettling reminder of today’s crippling panic attack.

_If only obliviating himself was an option_ he thought wistfully, pushed himself to his feet and returned to sit in his comfortable chair behind his desk. His mouth felt dry and as he reached for the glass of water on his desk, Potter’s horrified expression persistently flickered to the forefront of his mind. He tried to push it away but Potter, stubborn as he was, refused to budge, refused to leave him alone, refused to give him even just a moment of peace. He glared at the pile of letters Potter had owled him over the course of this week and flicked the entire stack into the fireplace with an angry growl. The flames lapped up the unexpected treat and Draco hummed with satisfaction. He had no intention of filing a report with the Auror Department over what had happened up on that ledge and he also didn’t care for an investigation into who had Imperiused him and why. For all Draco cared, Potter could bend over backwards to try and get him to make an appearance in the Ministry of Magic. He had no interest of following through on Potter’s insistent requests to investigate his case and nothing short of an official summons from the Wizengamot was going to make Draco give Potter what he wanted. He had enough problems to deal with as he tried to cope with the despicable mental scars his involuntary suicide attempt had left him with. He also had a department to run, healers to train, patients to heal and a paper to publish.

Taking another deep breath, Draco leant forward, reached for his quill, and resumed his work on the open medical file on his desk. He still had a bunch of test results to collate to try and make sense of Healer Xuan’s diagnosis and the proposed treatment plan for — _Draco briefly glanced at the top of the file_ — patient Orla Kirkby in room five. It was a rather offensive treatment plan, well removed from common practices and accepted standards and as such Healer Xuan required his approval before he could begin treating his patient. Draco sighed, so far nothing about the patient’s medical history and her presenting complaints stood out to him and Healer Xuan was a highly qualified Attending Healer here at the hospital. To be sure, Draco read over the proposed treatment plan and was about to review the nurse’s notes on this morning’s vital checks, when someone threw the door to his office upon with such force that the hinges groaned and the wooden door bounced off the heavy midnight green marble umbrella stand behind it.

Draco looked up and found himself looking right into the exceptionally green eyes of a rather menacing-looking Harry Potter, scarlet-red Auror robes flowing behind him as he stood in the doorway to Draco’s office. Ally squeezed through the tiny gap between Potter and the doorframe. She looked rather flustered and was wrangling her fingers in a manner that reminded Draco of a house elf. “Healer Malfoy, sir, I’m s—so sorry, I to—told Auror Potter you’re n—not available—” she stammered her way through her apology and rising to his feet, Draco emerged from behind his desk, approached his shaken secretary and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. A gentle squeeze and a soft smile later she relaxed visibly and Draco once again prided himself on his impeccable bedside manners. He was still a stubborn git with an out-of-control temper and a snarky mouth but these days he reserved his less than favourable character traits for dealing with the imbeciles that called themselves the Board of Directors of St Mungo’s.

“It’s all right, Ally, I’ll deal with _Head_ Auror Potter,” Draco accentuated Potter’s title with a contemptuous glare as he appeased his secretary and she shot him a grateful smile. “Would you bring us some tea? I have the feeling Mr Potter won’t leave as quickly as I’d like him to,” he added and Ally nodded, then hurried out off his office. Potter had the grace to step further into the room so that she could close the door behind herself and Draco raised a curious eyebrow at Potter. “Anything I can help you with, Potter? One of your Aurors unfortunate enough to get himself cursed on a case? If so, I’m sure I can arrange for a bed,” he said, feigning well-schooled nonchalance as he returned to his chair behind his desk. Somehow, having a large desk between himself and Potter made him feel better about having Potter stood in his office, hands on his hips, looking like he was about to either combust or draw his wand and hex Draco out of the enchanted window behind him.

“Drop the pretence, Malfoy, you know exactly why I’m here,” Potter snapped, his eyes flashing angrily and Draco curled his left hand into a tight fist but kept it well out of Potter’s sight. “You ignored all of my owls, I had no other choice but to come to you.”

“Come to apologise for that rather inappropriate kiss that practically bordered on sexual assault, then?” Draco drawled, purposefully ignoring Potter’s last statement. He smirked when Potter opened his mouth to make a retort but evidently changed his mind and remained silent instead. Draco shot him a challenging look, daring him to say something, anything. Potter held his gaze, unwaveringly so, and for several minutes they merely stood across from each other, engaged in a staring match of the most awkward kind. Eventually, Potter seemingly found his voice and Draco straightaway preferred that he hadn’t.

Potter laughed and it sounded even more inappropriate than his kiss had felt. Draco instantly regretted having brought it up, he had been doing a rather splendid job of ignoring the fact that it had happened in the first place. “As inappropriate as when you fucked my brains out after the trials?” Potter asked, piercing him with his too green eyes. Draco swallowed, curled his toes in his shoes and clenched his other hand into a fist too. He had avoided thinking about that memory for the last sixteen years and couldn’t help but wonder when Potter had learnt to be this snide. When had Britain’s Golden Boy — _man_ , Draco’s mind unhelpfully corrected him — taken a crash course in Slytherin mannerisms? Draco wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it and was rather grateful when the door opened and Ally entered, levitating a tray with a teapot, two teacups, milk, sugar, and a plate of his favourite butter shortbread. She placed the tray carefully on Draco’s desk, shot him a questioning look and he forced himself to soften his expression. He gave her a warm smile, thanked her and after a moment of hesitation she turned around and left his office. _Merlin, do I love that woman_ , Draco thought to himself. Ally was a true saint, always looking out for him, always worrying about him but never quite overstepping the boundaries of their relationship. Still, Draco appreciated her concerns, especially because she knew him better than anyone.

Draco seated himself, reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup of steaming hot black tea. “Having a cuppa?” he offered politely and Potter pursed his lips, then nodded in silent agreement. Draco poured him a second cup, added two pieces of brown rock sugar crystals to his tea and stirred it. “I don’t know about your tea preferences,” he said, motioned for Potter to prepare his own tea, and elegantly sat down in his chair. He watched Potter approach his desk, reach for his tea, and was surprised to note that Potter appeared to prefer his tea black. He had pegged Potter to be the kind of person who might drink their tea with a copious amount of milk and an unhealthy dose of sugar. _He doesn’t look like he indulges in a lot of sweets_ , his backstabbing mind pointed out to him and Draco pushed that thought to the furthest corner of his mind. The last he wanted to do was to contemplate the state of Potter’s body.

“Why did you ignore my owls?” Potter inquired, his voice hard and unforgiving and if Draco felt at all irritated by the way Potter talked to him, he made sure not to show his true emotions. Not yet anyway,

“If you haven’t worked that one out for yourself you, then you’ve absolutely got the wrong job,” Draco scoffed and sipped on his tea. It was still a little too hot to drink but right this moment he kind of enjoyed the almost burn the hot, sweet liquid left behind in his mouth. It gave him something to focus on, something that wasn’t Potter’s eyes or his toned body, or— Draco resolutely cut his own thoughts off right there. No, he was not going to go there. It was enough that he awoke every single night to the same goddamn nightmare, sliding over the blasted ledge, Potter holding on to him for dear life as they both fell through the air, gravity dragging them towards the unforgiving asphalt below. The fact that Potter had, mid-fall, managed to apparate them to the safety of his own home was a rather undeniable testament of Potter’s rather extraordinary magical talents but Draco didn’t want to think about that either. He didn’t want to think about anything that related to Potter, it was like willingly looking for an assortment of problems he was not ready to deal with. He doubted he would ever be.

“Draco—” Potter started and Draco resolutely cut him off right there.

“That’ll be Healer Malfoy for you, Potter. I do not recall us ever being on a first name basis,” he snapped and Potter rolled his eyes with obvious annoyance.

“Seriously, _Draco_?” Potter asked brusquely. “Is this how we’re going to fucking play it? We’re fucking adults, Malfoy, not in our sixth year at Hogwarts,” Potter snarled with seething eyes. _Oh good, a little more and he’ll storm off_ , Draco petulantly thought to himself. How was it that Potter always managed to bring out the worst in him?

“I was wondering when you were going to bring up slicing me open,” Draco drawled, stubbornly held Potter’s gaze and wasn’t at all prepared for Potter sighing and sitting down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his desk. He instantly wanted to tell Potter to get up, to fuck off, to leave and never come back, to stop bothering him, but he did no such thing.

“Draco—” Potter started again, paused to sip on his tea and this time Draco did not reprimand him for the use of his first name. “Someone _Imperiused_ you and told you to jump to your death. If you think I’m going to let this slide, if you think I’m going to ignore the fact that it happened, then you really don’t know me at all.”

“Merlin, Potter, you should see a mind healer for this hero complex of yours, it’s rather getting out of hand, don’t you think? I can recommend you, someone,” Draco mocked. “I’m not pressing charges, I’m not filing a report. Now, I didn’t study law but even I know that without an official complaint you have no reason to open an investigation into the matter.”

“Why do you have to be this fucking stubborn?” Potter growled.

“What’s it to you whether I file a report or not, Potter?” Draco challenged. He was growing tired of this conversation and he really wanted Potter to leave his office, leave him alone, preferably before Draco’s mildly-drugged brain — _calming_ _draughts did funny things to your sanity_ — decided that he should thank Potter for saving his life, possibly even kiss him. _Where had that fucking thought come from?_ Draco question himself and only managed to control his urge to look at Potter’s lips because he studiously stared into his tea.

“You almost _died_ ,” Potter snapped, his exasperation for Draco’s obdurate stance on the matter practically dripping from his words. Draco could tell that Potter was seriously annoyed with him, but he really did not what him to be. He did not even want Potter in his office.

“ _Almost_ ,” Draco shrugged. “You saved me, which seems to be a habit of yours. Now, while I am extremely grateful to you that I’m still alive I really have absolutely no intention of filing charges. I don’t know who cursed me, I have no intention to find out and I would really rather that you left me alone,” Draco tried his best to keep his voice even but under his desk his nails were digging painfully into his thigh with the effort it took him to keep a nagging thought from stubbornly invading his consciousness. Potter abruptly rising to his feet and slamming his teacup onto Draco’s desk sufficiently distracted him, at least for the moment.

“I will not let this slide. What happened to you, that was _Attempted Murder_ , and I will not ignore this. Not while I’m the Head of the Auror Department,” Potter said firmly and fixed his blazing green eyes on Draco, who stubbornly held his gaze in a silent challenge.

“Knock yourself out, Potter,” Draco shrugged, too tired to care, too tired to continue their ridiculous teenage feud from years ago and most definitely too tired — _or possibly too spineless to deal with the aftermath of accepting reality, since he had done such a fucking marvellous job of it some sixteen years ago_ — to admit to himself that the reason Potter was so upset with him wasn’t just because he refused to cooperate.

“I wish you would just come to your senses,” Potter sighed, turned on his heel and before Draco could say anything to that, Potter had already crossed the room, pulled the door open and left. Draco was vaguely aware that Ally rose from her seat and immediately rushed forward to close the door again. He gave her a grateful smile, which she answered with a half-smile of her own. With the door to his office closed once more, Draco leant back in his chair, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

_Rynne_ , he thought and his chest constricted painfully, making it just that little bit harder to take calming deep breaths or any breaths at all. He sighed, drew his wand, and cast an elaborate unlocking spell to open the top drawer of his desk. It slid open with ease and he pulled out a thick medical file and placed it on his desk. It looked a tad bit tattered, though the St Mungo’s crest on the front was still clear as day. His fingers momentarily rested on the top of his own elegantly slanted handwriting, then he resolutely opened the file and stared at a photograph of himself and a beautiful young witch with long, brown curls cascading down her shoulders, taken some five years prior. Rynne sat upright in her hospital bed and the beaming smile on her face entirely betrayed the fact that a horrid curse was causing her to slowly wither away on the inside.

Draco reached for the photograph, holding on to it as though it was the most precious thing he possessed. _You were so stupid_ , he thought as he stared at his younger, less experienced self. _Why did you promise you would save her?_ He had well and truly lost count of how many times he had asked himself that question in the last few months. _You know better than to promise patients the impossible, you know better than to promise them anything at all, you are a healer, not a miracle worker_ , he reprimanded himself and a wave of anger rolled over him as he wondered, for the umpteenth time, whether leaving Britain to study the fine art of healing had been the right decision after all.

_You ran, you ran like a coward_ , his mind spat accusingly and he slammed the flat of his hand on the table, placed the photograph of him and Rynne back inside her medical file and locked it away, then rose to his feet, curled his fingers tightly around his wand and strode out of his office. He carelessly flung a locking spell at the door and stopped in front of Ally’s desk, stopped just long enough to tell her that he would be spending the afternoon doing extra rounds on the wards. She nodded, let him know that she would arrange to have the Department Head meeting recorded for him to watch back later. He nodded a polite thanks, then headed off into the general directions of the wards.

He made his way straight over to his _Department for the Reversal of Curse Damage_ but stopped in his tracks as he pulled the doors open. Potter stood in the corridor, not too far away from the nurse’s station, seemingly engaged in a conversation with one of the Trainee Healers. Draco pursed his lips, pulled the doors open fully and stepped onto the ward. He strode right over to where Potter stood, questioning Trainee Healer Sanchez. The young healer looked rather uncomfortable and Draco had no trouble understanding why. Potter looked rather intimidating in his Auror uniform, standing with his back ramrod straight, arms crossed over his chest and an expression on his face that made most people squirm uncomfortably.

“Potter, stop harassing my staff,” Draco snarled. “Healer Sanchez, do continue looking after your patients, I do not employ you to engage in frivolous small talk with the Auror Department.”

Healer Sanchez looked back and forth between Potter and his Department Head and Draco clearly sensed his confliction as to whether to obey an officer of the law or his direct supervisor. Draco swiftly made the decision for him, pointedly raised an eyebrow at Sanchez and used his most authoritative voice, “Sanchez, I thought you wanted to work with me on the Macaluso case, if you changed your mind I shall inform Head Nurse Flint that you would rather scrub bedpans for the rest of the week, I’m sure she will be delighted with the extra help.” Draco’s mild threat to pull the young trainee-healer off a rather interesting curse damage case had the desired effect and Sanchez instantly profusely apologised to Potter and practically ran off down the corridor.

“You’re interfering with an Auror investigation, Healer Malfoy,” Potter looked rather hostile, a bit thunderous even, but Draco merely shot him a bored look, headed for the nurse’s station, and leaned over the counter to grab a pile of six or seven medical files.

“I’ll be checking these patients, Viv,” he politely informed the nurse-on-duty and she nodded in silent acknowledgement. Turning back to Potter, Draco hugged the medical files to his chest and straightening himself up a bit, he defiantly stared at Potter. “What investigation, Head Auror Potter? I haven’t been made aware of any curse damage patients on my ward that filed charges with the Auror Department.”

“Malfoy—” Potter snarled, “stop making both our lives miserable.”

“Potter—” Draco scowled, “stop sticking your nose into matters that don’t concern you.” He gave Potter an icy glare, glanced down at the first medical file in his arms, read the name and hurried off into the general direction of private room number ten. Potter called out after him but Draco resolutely ignored him and went about doing his job as he stubbornly refused to acknowledge that Potter was also just trying to do his. He didn’t need saving, didn’t want any more saving. He well and truly had enough of Potter’s hero complex, enough to last him more than one lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still very much looking forward to what you'll think about this. _*blinks sweetly*_

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what are your thoughts? Let me know.


End file.
